


Double Negative

by enmity



Category: Tales of Series, Tales of Xillia
Genre: F/M, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: His uncle had shown him the pictures.





	Double Negative

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wished were longer but sigh, it was not meant to be :( Maybe someday.
> 
> Based on side material that mentioned Gilland learned what Milla looks like through seeing her escape after invading the Exodus base 15 years pre-game.

His uncle had shown him the pictures. Sketches, more like; reconstructions of her likeness filtered through the imperfection of memory and artistic limitations. A girl that couldn’t have been more than half his age, with goldilocks hair and red eyes staring back, and twelve-year old Alvin, flipping through the pages and getting ink on his hands, had gone too far down the path of cynicism to believe this was Maxwell. Not immediately, at least.

He looked at Gilland, who didn’t seem to be kidding. The discomfort sunk in, suffocating, and Alvin turned back to the girl in the picture; caught himself in the alarming shade of her eyes, her young, defiant expression frozen in vivid ink on fragile paper. But.

This wasn’t a girl. This was Maxwell.

Alvin felt his hand tremble— which was ridiculous, because he’d killed before, their blood on his hands after he’d pulled the trigger and watched them fall, and it was far too late to have misgivings— and he pressed the book shut. He thought of his mother as he caught a glimpse of the shadows in Gilland’s eyes, and fought the urge to tighten his hand, clench his teeth.

“I understand,” he said, instead. He didn’t pause, “I’ll do it. I’ll kill her.”

Gilland crossed his arms, and sneered as though to say, _did you expect to have a choice?_

Years later, meeting Milla for the first time, he would recognize her from the way the lone lock of hair on her head curled loosely astray, its verdant ends unchanging from how he’d seen them the first time, in the picture, over a decade ago. It was a strange thing to hold onto, though it was true. But in case she ever catches on, ever questions it, he supposes he’ll tell Milla it was the curves he’d paid attention to first. That, _hey—_ insert flippant shrug— _it’s not my fault your handmaid’s got poor taste._

As with all the lies he tells her, it’s easier that way.


End file.
